cluttering the net since 2001

shanghai baby

Sunday, Sept. 15, 2002
Another day another day…. Nothing much ever changes. I need to find a doctor. What do I do? Look up shrinks? I think I have to go to my regular doctor and ask for a referral to utilize my health insurance. I’m not sure but I’m about to find out tomorrow by calling and asking.

Instead of whining about all the shit going down in my house at the moment or talking about the shitty conversation I had with “Bucky” because it’ll just make me break down and cry again…

Instead I’m going to talk about this book I’m currently reading. “Shanghai Baby” by wei hui.

This book is awesome. I’m on page 134 and so far she’s met someone that she can’t have sex with and is currently cheating on him. She’s a writer and she seems to be clinically depressed. Very good book. The writing is what makes it good..not the story line.

I read over on my blog I belong to a comment made whereby the commentor said that anyone that writes is intensity personified. I think this isn’t true. Look at all the shitty diarys and blogs that are out there. All the countless bad poems I have read myself. Probably written myself. Who can judge themselves?

But it was an interesting comment. Perhaps along with the curse of constant sadness comes the blessing of constant expression and creativity. Its hard to say.

I know that mostly in my life despite all the shit and badness and all the hurt and pain and discourse, I am blessed with certain talents and insights on the world around me, that not everyone has. I see everything as a poem in motion. I see everything like a scene out of a movie. I always thought everyone did this. I have come to learn that that is just not true.

I’m out. I’m going to Starbucks to get some coffee and read Shanghai Baby…

7:02 p.m. ::
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